The Colors in Your Head
by Alice-in-chucks
Summary: Roxas' first crush was in the 4th grade, but the object of his affections mysteriously disappeared halfway through the year. Now he's 18. Could the pale face he's been seeing in the window of the Old Folks' Home lead him to discovering what happened all those years ago, & will he take the opportunity to shape what will happen in years to come? Companion fic to Those Pretty Lights.


Part 1 of the companion piece to _Those Pretty Lights. _It is not necessary to have read _TPL _in order to understand this story, but if you are going to read _TPL _I would recommend doing so before you read this one. This covers approximately the same timeline as _TPL,_ give or take a bit, but is told from Roxas' perspective. If the fact that this is called 'Part 1' isn't indication enough, yes, this story is turning out to be quite a bit longer than _TPL._ Hopefully that's a good thing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or any of its characters. Song lyrics adapted from Andrew Belle's _All Those Pretty Lights_.

Enjoy!

* * *

Everyone in Miss Lockhart's fourth grade class jumped up from their seat at the sound of the eleven o'clock bell, eager to enjoy their fifteen minutes of recess. I was just slightly behind the rest of my class, penciling in a few more words to the poem I'd been working on before I too was on my way out the door, shoving the scrap of paper into my back pocket.

A timid tap on my shoulder startled me. I turned my head to find that I wasn't the last one out of the room after all. A girl stood there, her blonde hair falling over her right shoulder as she held out a familiar scrap of paper. I blinked, staring dumbly at her big, blue-grey eyes that looked almost lavender with the shirt she was wearing. The girl's name was Naminé, but she went by Nami, a fact I'd known since the second grade when we'd first been in the same class. Since then I had been aware of this girl with an acuteness that I had never experienced around anyone before.

"You dropped this," she said in her soft voice, which I had heard many times, but this was the first time it had ever been addressed to me. My hand automatically went to my back pocket, which was, of course, empty.

"Oh," I reached out and took it. "Th-thanks."

She smiled at me, folding her hands behind her back. "Were you writing a song?" she asked politely.

"Um, a poem," I answered. "I mean, unless I can come up with a tune to go with it." I'd tried writing a song a few times before and hadn't had much success, but having Nami suggest it made it seem like it might be worth trying again.

"That'd be really cool," she said, still smiling. "I like music a lot. Especially classical music, but music with words is good too." She giggled lightly. "My brother says it's weird that I like classical music. Is it weird?"

I shook my head quickly. "Not at all. I think that's cool that you like it."

Her eyes lit up.

"Nami, hurry up!"

The blonde girl tilted her head, looking past me at a girl with short auburn hair. "Coming, Kai," she told her friend. "Good luck with your poem," she added to me, her eyes flicking back over to mine for the briefest of seconds before she was gone.

That was the last day Naminé Kisaragi came to school.

* * *

"Come on, Roxas, Zexion's waiting in the truck and your neighbors are starting to give him threatening glares. I think that old lady on the porch just muttered something along the lines of 'I'll beat that boy with my cane if he doesn't turn that ungodly music down.'"

I take the stairs two at a time, flinging my black jacket over my shoulders and yanking the hood down when it gets caught on my messy blond hair. "If Zex gets beaten to death by an old lady, which is sadly probable considering he's a weakling and Mrs. Hinata is stronger than she looks, it'll be your fault, not mine. I'm not the one with the broken car radio."

"Yeah, yeah, stupid lack of volume control. What can I say, my car hates me. You ready?"

I nod absently at the lanky redhead, who's clad merely in a charcoal grey T-shirt and jeans. I've gotten used to the oddity of Axel never wearing a jacket even in twenty degree weather like today. The guy must be like a walking furnace or something. But that's not what's on my mind as I brush past where he's standing in my front doorway out into the crisp December air. No, all I can think about is the fact that Panic! At The Disco is in town and in slightly less than two hours I'll be seeing them live for the first time. Last time they performed near Twilight Town I was out on Destiny Islands visiting my cousin, so Axel and Zexion went and saw them without me.

Before I reach the rust-red truck my ears are assaulted with the roar of Blink-182's _All the Small Things. _At least it's a good song. I slide into the passenger seat next to Zexion, who gives me a nod, his steel-blue hair falling into his eyes as usual. Axel doesn't mind riding in the truck bed because, like I said, Walking Furnace, plus we don't trust him driving even his own truck.

"How's work?" I ask as Zexion pulls out from the curb, having to raise my voice to be heard over Axel's perpetually loud and unable-to-be-turned-off-without-a-hatchet radio.

"Good," he answers. "Dem's slacking as usual, but it would be ridiculous to hope for anything less." Zex and our friend Demyx work at the music store down the street from where I live. That's actually where I met Zexion. I went in there to browse for my first guitar and we bonded over our complete and utter agreement over anything and everything music.

"Working on anything new?" he asks. He means songs. Sometimes if a song I write comes out halfway decent, I let Zexion hear it, since he has an appreciation for that sort of thing. I shake my head.

"Nah. Guess I just haven't been inspired lately."

He nods and we lapse into a comfortable silence. Well, as silent as it can get with One Republic's _Counting Stars_ now being blasted into our ears. I lean my head back on the headrest and gaze up at the Christmas lights adorning several of the shops and other buildings on the street. This is the first time this season I've really noticed them. There are lights in the cheery shape of a harp on the display window of Perfect Fifth, the music store where Zexion works. Along the narrow window sills of the old people center, blue-tinted icicle lights cast the building in a cold, fantastical glow. Movement in one of the windows attracts my eye and I catch a glimpse of a girl with light hair turning towards the window, perhaps wondering where all the noise is coming from. Her expression is somewhat forlorn and I can't help but muse that she looks like some tragic heroine painted by an artist that fancies themselves a deep thinker.

I'm startled out of my incredibly melodramatic thoughts by the horrible sound of Axel screeching, in what I can only assume is a miserably failed attempt to sing along with Ryan Tedder.

"For the love of all that is good in this world, make it stop," Zexion mutters.

I groan, roll down my window, and lean my head out, craning my neck around to shout at the offending redhead.

"Shut up, Axel, or next time we're at your house I'll ask Kairi about her love life."

The terrible noise stops short for a moment. "You wouldn't," Axel's voice floats up after a second, and I imagine his green eyes narrowed. "That'd be torture you'd have to endure, too."

Ha! He thinks I'm bluffing. "Try me. Even your sister's endless rants are better than your so-called 'singing'."

"I hate you."

"Love you, too."

The rest of the ride passes in relative silence (again, it's never really quiet in Axel's truck) and we arrive at the airlines center where the concert is being held. Nearly three hours of severely abusing my lungs in a crowd of people jumping around and doing the same, we're back in the old truck, me clutching my brand new black Panic! concert tour T-shirt to my chest like a baby. I may also be wearing one. Yes, I take my band merch seriously, thank you very much.

"After all those screaming fangirls, I don't know how much more abuse I can take from your truck, Axel," Zexion says, reluctantly turning the key in the ignition and thus unleashing a tidal wave of sound from the radio.

"Not gonna take that comment too seriously considering it's coming from one of said screaming fangirls," comes the answer from the truck bed, voice raised to be heard above the music.

"I do not scream," Zexion scoffs. "But if I did, it would be almost entirely justified. Brendon Urie's voice is godlike, I don't care what anyone says."

We both mumble our agreement as we pull out of the lot, all of us still slightly dazzled from the concert.

A little over half an hour later we're back in the Christmas-lit part of town I know so well. My eyes glance up to the window on the second story of the old people's home before I realize what I'm looking for-or who. And there she is, her face turned downward to something on her lap-a book, maybe? A strand of light hair falls down in front of her face as I watch and she doesn't bother pushing it back. Something about the short glimpse I got of her face causes a niggling tug in a corner of my mind. I frown. I feel like I'm struggling to grasp at the slippery strands of a dream moments after being ripped abruptly out of it and into the waking world, which by the way is one of the most frustratingly futile things ever, but I'm going all embarrassingly histrionic again. I do that on occasion. Perks of being a (sometimes) songwriter.

Anyway, when we get back to my place it's still bothering me. The silence brings me out of my stupor when Zexion shuts off the truck. He breathes a sigh of relief, leaning his head back on the headrest.

"Remind me again why we drove Axel's truck of all things."

"Because my dad's using my Audi, and you don't have a car," I answer, opening the passenger door and gracefully falling out of it.

"Mm. Right."

We shuffle into the house and Axel glances at the clock. "Kai's at some party or something, so she'll probably be calling me sometime to pick her up."

"Kay, well feel free to hang out here 'til then," I say, going into the kitchen and pulling out a few Dr. Peppers from the fridge. I wonder whose party Kairi's at. Since we're in the same grade in school, I know most of her friends and she knows mine. Then something clicks into place in my mind and I stop short in the entryway to the living room, a soda in one hand and two in the other. I know where I've seen that girl's face before.

Axel lifts his head from his place sprawled out on my sofa, eyebrow quirked upward. "Alright, Rox? You look like someone just smacked you in the face with a blunt object."

"Ax, do you remember Nami?"

He blinks. "Who?"

"Naminé. You know, the one who used to be like best friends with your sister back in elementary school?" I chuck a Dr. Pepper at his head and he yelps.

"Jerk," he mutters, rubbing his forehead. I toss the second soda towards Zexion, who for his part catches it smoothly without flinching from his place leaned against the wall. "But yeah, now that you mention it," Axel answers, "she was a little blonde thing, right? Didn't she die or something?"

"What? I don't think so," I say in slight alarm. "I thought she just changed schools."

"Oh, yeah, you're probably right."

"Do you know why she left? Did Kairi mention anything?"

He shakes his head. "No. Or I don't remember, anyway. Why're you asking about her?"

Now I feel kind of silly. "I, uh... I dunno, I was just remembering her for some reason."

Axel looks unsatisfied but just then my mom emerges from my parents' room, looking slightly tired but still composed and elegant as usual, even in her pajamas. Her pale, chopped blonde hair has not a strand out of place and she glances around the room with just a hint of anxiety in her dark brown eyes, so small that only someone who's grown accustomed to interpreting her barely-there expressions would notice.

"Roxas, your father should be home any minute now." Judging from the unease in her eyes, I'm guessing he was supposed to be home long before now. "I think it's time for your friends to head back to their own homes."

Axel pushes himself up off the sofa, Dr. Pepper in hand. "Right, Kairi should be calling any time now anyway. I'll see you later, Rox."

I nod. "See you."

Axel looks at Zexion expectantly, but the latter's blue eyes are directed towards me. I feel like he's reading something in my face, and I raise an eyebrow at him to show that I don't know what he's looking for, even though I think I might. His gaze shifts to my mom.

"If it's alright with you, I'm going to stay a bit longer," he says politely.

"How are you gonna get home?" Axel asks, his tone pointed so that what he's really saying is _Dude, she just told us to get out of her house, don't argue._

"Walk, like I usually do," Zexion answers, not moving his eyes from my mom's. My mother's lips are pressed together, but after a moment or two she turns and goes back into the bedroom without a word.

"Suit yourself," Axel says, glancing warily at the door my mom just disappeared through before walking out the front door.

After a few moments the blare of the car radio seeps in through the walls of the house.

"You don't need to stay, you know," I mutter, staring at the wall. "My mom wants you to leave."

He doesn't say anything, and I know it was pointless to try to get him to change his mind. I'm pretty sure Zexion, Perceiver of All Things One Would Rather Keep Hidden, knows, or at least suspects, a lot more about my life than I even realize. I've never really had to tell that boy anything, he just knows somehow. He's never denied my claims that he's some twisted mind-reader version of Spiderman.

But I'm not sure what he hopes to accomplish by staying here, I mean, if my dad comes home drunk then he comes home drunk. He's not going to suddenly be on his best behavior because my friend is here. And we've already established the fact that there's no hope of Zexion beating anyone stronger than a chipmunk in a fight, and he knows it. He may be taller than me-barely, and Axel has us both beat by a mile-but I'm stronger.

Besides, my dad has been doing better lately, honestly he has, and he's kept his promise so far. I think of saying this to Zexion to persuade him to go home but that would mean admitting that I know why he won't leave me alone here without making sure I'm alright first. And it's not something I've ever talked about with anyone, not even him, my best friend.

I hear a door slam out front and a few moments later the front door opens, admitting my dad, dressed in his navy and white work clothes with his black hair slicked back as usual. My dad works for an electric company. I'm not exactly sure what it is he does all day, but whatever it is, it pays the bills. He's currently trying to get my mom a job at the same place.

He tosses his bag on the fireplace and looks up, glancing at Zexion before his eyes find me. He seems completely sober and muscles in my upper body that I hadn't even realized were tense relax. He greets me with a nod.

"Is your mom awake?"

I nod.

"Elena?" he calls, and after a few moments my mother reemerges.

"Oh, good, you're home," she says, no trace of her former anxiety hinted at in her face.

I catch Zexion's eye, who had been previously regarding my dad coldly. The hardness in his eyes vanishes when he sees me looking at him, and I jerk my head toward the front door.

"Think you can find your way home in the dark?" I tease lightly once we're on the front porch.

"I think I'll manage," he answers, shoving his hands in his pockets and shuffling out onto the path leading to the sidewalk. I wait until his form is down the street and out of sight, and then my legs move almost of their own accord, taking me down the same path I've taken many times to visit Zexion at work or to buy musical supplies. Only this time, they bring me to a stop before I reach Perfect Fifth, and I find myself standing across the street from the Twilight Town Assisted Living Center, or what I usually refer to in my head as the old people's home. The lights in most of the rooms are off, including in the window where I think the blonde girl's room is. I should have expected this since it's well past midnight now, but still I sigh in frustration. I need to know if it's her or not, to be able to sleep tonight if nothing else.

I'm just about to trudge back home, scolding myself for being stupid, when a light blinks to life on the second floor. I hold my breath as blonde hair comes into view, then a face. She leans her head against the glass, looking up towards the stars. It occurs to me that I've passed by this place many times, but not once have I looked up and noticed her. People rarely look up, I guess, but here we both are, doing just that.

She must not be able to sleep. The expression on her face makes me feel heavy, and if I had to name it, I would say she was...resigned. To what, I'm not sure.

Is it really Nami? It's hard to tell, but now that the idea's entered my mind, I can't shake it. I remember what Axel said about her being dead and shiver involuntarily, but I push that thought aside quickly. If it really is her, I have so many questions I don't even know where to begin.

I decide to head back home before I risk the chance of her looking down and seeing me.

Back in my room, I pull open my desk drawer, take out my worn green spiral notebook and a mechanical pencil, and sit on my pillow. I press the eraser end of the pencil to my lips until the lead pokes out through the tip.

_There's something to be said about the colors in your head _

_And how they mix to form the perfect shade of sadness_

* * *

I pull my shiny black guitar out from its case and lean against the wall of the diner, directly across the street from the old people's home, wondering what exactly possessed me to do this. All I know is it doesn't sit right with me that the girl is stuck in that place, day after day, for as many times as I've seen her the past few days, she seems to rarely leave her room. Then yesterday I got the bright idea to save up money to buy her a ticket to the Radiant Garden symphony orchestra, since I've heard they're one of the best in the world, and if it really is Nami, she has a fondness for classical music. Somehow I've never forgotten that.

The only problem is, ever since I graduated from high school last spring, all the money I make from my job at the shoe store-did I mention I work at a shoe store?-goes straight to my savings to rent myself an apartment and finally get out on my own. That goal is far too important to me to sacrifice any of my shoe store money. Yeah, I'm pretty selfish. But then I thought to myself, hey, self, why not make some money another way so that you can buy her symphony ticket without giving up any of your Roxas' Independence Fund? So here I am, with my guitar on the sidewalk, about to perform for total strangers in the hopes that they'll throw money at me.

Shut up, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

A gust of icy air slaps me in the face, making my cheeks and ears sting. I pluck a few notes to check how my tuning is-it's pretty good, considering the weather, but I adjust a few pegs anyway since I know the warmth of my hands and body will heat up the guitar as I play. I pick a song in my head and start to strum. When the verse comes my voice is a bit scratchy at first, but once I clear my throat and get going a bit, it gets better and I stop thinking about how I sound and just _play_. That's when I realise people are actually listening.

A mother and her little boy have stopped on the sidewalk across the street, a girl a few years older than me is nodding to the beat as she window-shops, a couple just exiting the diner I'm standing in front of is lingering outside the door. This should make me nervous-I mean, I haven't played for anyone other than Zexion in a long time-but for some reason, it gives me confidence. I feel less like I'm being judged and more like I'm being... appreciated. It's a feeling I could get used to.

I play until I can smell the iron on my fingertips, and then come back again each night, and every once in a while someone will toss a bit of money into my guitar case. Sometimes I almost delude myself into thinking that maybe the girl in the window is listening, too-almost.

I keep coming even after I become disillusioned of my goal-I mean, there must be a _reason _she's always up there in that room, right? Maybe she's not allowed to leave. It now seems ridiculously unlikely that she'd even want the ticket if I got it. She doesn't even know me, and I'm not even sure it's Nami. Axel's probably right, she probably died years ago, and this is a completely different girl.

But still, after work every day, I come to the same spot outside the diner, across from the old people's home that is also home to one sad teenage girl, and perform. It's addictive. I feel more alive on that little section of sidewalk, out in the cold, than I have in a long time. And I'm surprised to find that the people who listen seem genuinely disappointed when I stop each night.

Christmas comes and goes without me taking much notice, except for the fact that I have the day off and Demyx calls to invite me to his Christmas party, which I tactfully decline. I believe my exact response is something along the lines of "I'd rather die, Dem, your friends creep me out."

The next day when I come into work, I can tell something is about to go horribly wrong, because my boss, a burly blond guy who insists I call him Mr. Highwind, seems uncomfortable. Now, for anyone who knows him, this is recognised as an Extremely Unusual Occurrence. The guy could walk into a My Little Pony convention and convince everyone there that he owns the place. So naturally, when I greet him with my usual "yo" and he nearly jumps out of his skin before giving me a half-hearted grimace, I'm worried.

While I try to shrug it off and get to work behind the cash register, he leans against a shelf of shoes, tapping his fingers idly against a shoebox containing a pair of women's red Chuck Taylors. He usually has a ton of work to do in the back rooms.

"Everything alright, Cid?" I ask after I finish checking out a customer and she's gone out the door.

"Mr. Highwind," he corrects automatically.

I restrain myself from rolling my eyes. "Right. Is something wrong, Mr. Highwind?"

He lets out a sigh, long and dejected. "Rox-in-a-box, we're going out of business."

I almost choke on my own spit.

"Or, as the big dogs up top call it, 'relocating,'" he goes on, clenching his hand in a fist. "But for everyone who works at this location, it means effectively the same thing."

"They're getting rid of this store?" I ask, angry.

He nods grimly. "Yep. Relocating out to Hollow Bastion, and hiring all new employees."

"When?"

He grits his teeth. "They called me yesterday-on _Christmas_ of all days-saying they're gonna start packing us up next week."

I stare at him in disbelief.

He sighs again, glancing down. "I'd go ahead and start looking for a new job, squirt."

* * *

I leave work that evening with my head down and hands shoved in the pockets of my black jacket, kicking at stray rocks on the sidewalk. What am I supposed to do now? I really need that job if I'm ever gonna get out on my own. I shake my head, looking forward to grabbing my guitar, heading to the street and forgetting about this for a little while. I can worry about it in the morning.

The front door slams behind me as I enter my house and head to the kitchen to get a glass of water before I go back out. My dad pokes his head out of the fridge, looking a bit more bedraggled than usual, his dark hair falling out of its usual slicked-back tidiness.

"You bring me some milk?" he asks. I freeze. Something about the way he's speaking, how his words don't fit together right, feels sickeningly familiar.

"We're out of milk." He says despondently to the fridge, before turning on me. "Well?"

"I didn't bring any milk," I say slowly.

"Huh. What good're you, anyways." He stumbles past me into the living room and I wrinkle my nose as I catch a whiff of the alcohol on his breath. So much for doing better.

I follow him, my glass of water forgotten. "Where's mom?"

He lazily shrugs his shoulders. "Probably out with her girlfriends or somethin'... I dunno." He looks me over and seems to notice that I'm still wearing my jacket and shoes.

"Goin' somewhere?"

I nod cautiously. "Yeah, I was just gonna grab my guitar and go..." He follows my eyes which are looking at my guitar case leaned against the end of the sofa over by where he's standing.

"Whattaya need that for?" He mutters, reaching down and picking up the case. I clench my fists. Nobody handles my guitar but me.

"None of your business," I answer through gritted teeth.

His dark eyes flash dangerously and he regards me with a sneer. "Watch where do you go every night, anyway?"

I don't answer, my eyes flicking from my guitar case back to his face. I just want to grab my guitar and get out of here.

He opens up the case, fumbling a bit with the latches.

"What are you doing?" I ask frantically.

"Where do you go?" He repeats, ignoring me and pulling the guitar out of its case, holding it by the neck.

"I do street performing," I say quickly, wary of the look in his eyes. I take a step forward and reach for my guitar, afraid that he might drop it in his current state. He pulls it back out of my reach.

"Street performing?" He repeats mockingly. "What good is that doing you, huh?"

I can't possibly tell him I'm saving up money to buy a ticket to the symphony for a girl I saw through a window, or even that I'm doing it because for the first time in too long I feel like I'm really living, so I just shake my head, lunging at him to try and wrestle back my guitar. He pushes me down as if he were doing nothing more than swatting a fly. I glare up at him, making an effort not to cringe at the dull throb of pain in my chest. I won't give him the satisfaction.

"Street performing," he scoffs again. "What a foolish waste of time. You think that's gonna get you anywhere in life?" He's getting louder and louder as he talks. I don't think he even realises it.

He glances down at me lazily. "You don't need this," he drawls, dangling the guitar loosely in his fingers. "I'd be doing you a favour."

I swallow hard. "Don't you d-"

It's too late. I cringe at the sound of splitting wood as he slams my guitar against the wall, brandishing it like a baseball bat. He does it once more for good measure before he seems to get tired, slouching onto the sofa.

I'm shaking with the effort of keeping my fist at my side, instead of letting it smash into his face like it wants to. I close my eyes and try to take deep breaths. I can't be like my father. I can't sink to his level. It wouldn't end well for me, anyway.

My eyes still closed, I hear something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. I open my eyes, and sure enough, the drunkard is _laughing_ at me. Suddenly I can't stand to be in the same room as him for even a second longer.

So I run. I'm out the door before I even make the conscious decision to move. Part of it is force of habit, I've gotten angry enough times in my life to know that running is the best way for me to let off steam. I keep running even after my legs grow tired and my side starts to burn with every breath. I don't slow down, not even thinking about where I'm going until I crash headlong into something solid, bringing it down with me as I hit the pavement.

Whatever it is, it groans and attempts to shove me off. "Woah, dude, are you running from the cops or-Roxas?"

I scramble back onto my feet, recognising dirty blond hair, blue-green eyes, and the slanted black script of a tattoo poking out from the sleeve of a green skate jacket. I try to brush myself off as casually as possible.

"Hey, Demyx, sorry about that, man."

He pulls himself to his feet and looks about ready to move on from the subject before he stops and narrows his eyes at me.

"You're _not _running from the cops, are you?"

I raise an eyebrow at him and am about to tell him that yes, they're right on my tail, before I remember who I'm talking to. Dem's not the best at sarcasm; he'd probably believe me and freak out. And I'm really not in the mood for any more drama tonight.

"No, Dem, I'm not," I say with a remarkable amount of patience, considering I'm still fuming and crashing into him really didn't help matters.

"Good," he says cheerfully, adjusting his headphones which had almost slid from his neck. "Were you coming for Zexion, then? I'm just about to relieve him from his shift. If he lets me, that is. He's always telling me I'm doing something wrong, when I'm not doing anything!"

"Maybe that's the problem," I say, wondering if he even remembers that he asked me a question at the beginning of all that.

He frowns in confusion. "What?"

I shake my head. "Never mind." But remembering about what he said about work, I look around. Turns out my mindless marathon brought me not too far from the entrance to Perfect Fifth. I'm not sure I wanna talk to Zexion right now, though.

But before I can get away, Demyx is already at the doors, leaning in and yelling. "Yo, Zex! Your knight in shining armour is here to rescue you from the heinous clutches of overworking...ness. Oh yeah, and I brought your bestie too."

Now that he's dragged me into this, I guess I have no escape. I reluctantly follow Demyx into the music store.

Have I mentioned Perfect Fifth is basically the most amazing place ever? Yeah, while I've been drowning in shoeboxes every day, Dem and Zex get to chill in this little alcove of heaven. Taking up a large portion of the wall space are actual vinyl records, which are nearly impossible to find for sale these days. There's a section dedicated to musical instruments, where you can buy and even try out anything from saxophones to horns to harps to guitars. The shelves are full of CDs, headphones, speakers, sheet music, basically anything musical, it's there.

But the most distinguishable feature of Perfect Fifth, at least from what I've seen in other music stores, is the Recommendations. There are pads of sticky-notes placed around the shop with the heading 'What's caught your ear lately?' and customers write down the latest song, album, or band they've been obsessing over recently. Some even write whole playlists of songs with headings like "Pump Up Workout Jams" or "Songs that Bring to Mind the Color Green." The people who shop here are pretty creative with their categorisations and have decently eclectic taste in music, so the Recommendations are always worth checking out.

Zexion is leaning against a cabinet behind the check-out counter, and even though his shop is spilling over with awesome, I do have to pity the guy for having to work with the lunatic currently attempting to climb over the countertop. He regards Demyx blankly.

"You're bleeding."

Demyx falls off the counter. "I am?" He surveys his body before staring in shock at his elbow-which, as it turns out, actually is bleeding, the sleeve of his jacket having ripped clean through. Oops. "Must've been when Roxas attacked me. Do we have Band-Aids?"

"Aren't you the one meant to be rescuing me?" Zexion muses. "Some knight in shining armour you are."

"Hey, we knights have to fend off dragons and stuff, I think making it here with just a little flesh wound is a pretty praise-worthy achievement," Demyx defends.

"So does that make Roxas your dragon?" Zexion smirks.

"Guess so, O damsel in distress."

Zexion glances at me and pushes off from the cabinet, heading for the door. "There might be some Band-Aids in the back, you wimp," he says to Demyx. "Check the drawers. And try not to hurt yourself while I'm gone."

"Aw, you do care," Demyx gushes.

Zexion pushes the door open and I follow him out, feeling like I'm moving on autopilot.

"I'm putting together a new playlist for the Recommendations," he says as we fall into step beneath the yellow-tinged light of the lamp posts. "Sounds of Insomnia. You know, the kind of songs you listen to when you can't get to sleep? Almost anything goes."

I know he's asking me to contribute a few songs to the list since we always work on the playlists together, so I nod and say, "'Kay." That'll give me something productive to do while I'm not sleeping tonight.

"You've been quiet," he observes.

"I'm not gonna have a job by next week," I say. "They're relocating, hiring all new staff."

He doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Is that why you attacked Demyx? Not that I'm sure he didn't deserve it, of course."

I snort. "I didn't _attack_ him. I was running, and he was in my way."

"You were running? Don't you usually run in the mornings?"

I shrug, internally cursing him for over analysing every little thing. "Had to let off some steam."

He falls quiet for another moment, and I can almost hear him turning my words over in his mind, dissecting them and coming to a conclusion that's probably a lot closer to the truth than it really should be. "Are you following me to my house?" He accuses.

I glance sideways at him. Going home definitely does not appeal to me right now. "Yeah."

He nods and I get the impression that he wouldn't have let me go back to my own house anyway.

We come up to the old people's home and I force myself not to look up to the second floor. My eyes are drawn instead to the Christmas lights above the main doors, and I notice a piece of paper posted beneath them. In large, red print are two words.

NOW HIRING.

I stop in my tracks. Zexion takes a few more steps before realising I'm not following, then he turns to me questioningly. I don't look at him.

There's a tingling on the back of my neck, a restless urge to do something crazy. After all that's happened today, I feel like making a rash decision.

"Wait here."

* * *

This is a big mistake.

Why didn't I_ think_ before marching in there and applying for the Aide job opening? And of course, rather than life giving me the slap in the face of rejection I needed to regain my common sense, I was hired on the spot and asked to come in the next afternoon. They must be really desperate for Aides. You know what Aides have to do? Care for old people. Old people with problems. Turns out I'm not a naturally caring person, which I already suspected, but it's become painfully evident by the time I reach my fourteenth room and I really can't understand what this old lady is asking me.

Now, before you call me an insensitive jerk, you have to understand that she is seriously mumbling. I don't think I ever fully comprehended what the word 'mumbling' meant until I met this lady. After about the sixth time asking "I'm sorry, what was that?" and having her repeat the exact same sequence of incoherent mutterings, I try to take a calming breath and think of what Riku said to do in a situation like this. Riku's one of the other Aides who talked me through what I have to do on the job and helped me with the first few rooms. He said if I'm not sure what they're asking of me, to "evaluate the situation" and try to figure out what it is they need. Easy for a guy like Riku to say, who was basically born for this and moves through the rooms like he's on a mission to save all these people's lives, his long silver hair flowing behind him like a cape.

He also said if that doesn't work that I should find a more experienced Aide or a nurse (or a caregiver or whatever it is they call them here) and ask for help. Well, Incoherently Mumbling Lady, it seems you leave me no choice.

After I've found Riku (who knew exactly what to do, of course) and moved on, it doesn't get much better. The reason I originally wanted this job was the crazy little hope in my head that it would be a way for me to meet The Girl Who Might Be Nami, but as I go from room to room that seems increasingly unlikely. I mean, it's obvious this is a place for _old people_, so whatever reason the girl has for being here, she's probably not a patient.

It's nearly nine o'clock when I finally make it to the last room in the wing I've been assigned, and when I see the room number next to the door-B70-I nearly collapse from relief. Soon all this will be over, and I can go home, sleep, and then start looking for a job that won't make me want to kill myself every six minutes or so.

Then I open the door, and nearly collapse for an entirely different reason.

It's her. Curled up in a little ball on a bed with her legs drawn up to her chest and her head resting on her knees, is the girl in the window. She doesn't seem to have noticed me enter, so I force my muscles to move and knock tentatively on the door I've just opened.

"Hey, Riku," she says into her legs. Her voice is soft, just like… Wait, did she say Riku?

"Uh, sorry, but it's not Riku today."

She looks up frantically as if she assumes that if I'm not Riku, then I must be some axe murderer come to kill her. My heartbeat picks up its tempo at the sight of her face, because not only are those clear, blue-grey eyes the same sad eyes of the girl in the window, I'm almost entirely positive they're _her_ eyes.

Nami's.

And if that's not enough to floor me, the next words out of her mouth nearly do.

"No guitar tonight?"

* * *

Keep a lookout for Part 2. Hopefully it will be up soon-ish. In the meantime, review please :) I am deeply grateful to anyone who takes the time to leave a review and I do reply to all reviews.

Points to anyone who can tell who Roxas' dad is.

Cheers!

Alice


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